


Darker Indulgence

by Waysm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waysm/pseuds/Waysm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Written for Starkissed-lovers on Tumblr)</p><p>Danny blames Stiles’ repetitive question for the fantasy of the guy’s hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darker Indulgence

Danny scratches blunt nails across his hipbones, rubs his palm over his cock. The sheets under him slip and bunch as he shifts around to chase sensation. Callouses on his fingers drag across heat-tacky foreskin in a hitching glide. Tightening his fist, Danny lets his mind wander where it will.

There are times when the images in his head are little more than impressions of stubbled jaws and sharp teeth, board shoulders and solid abs, thighs, tongue, and dick, dick, dick. 

Other times, the images are bold and heavy, filled with specific people. 

Danny blames Stiles’ repetitive question for the fantasy of the guy’s hands. Long, long fingers gripping and pulling, shoving in and out with a twist that rims him with boxy knuckles. Stiles’ hands are constantly talking, highlighting his words, his intentions. Even when Stiles speaks lies and his movements dim, his hands are never as quiet as his face when it falls blank. Those flashes of rawness he hides behind spit slick lips that spew forth nonsense and insight in turns cut into Danny when he catches them. They make him want to break Stiles open and see what’s aching underneath. See if he can bend it around, mold it into something less—he doesn’t know, but it’d be better. 

Richer. 

The thought makes his chest tight. 

He tries to narrow his focus down to the tug of pleasure at the base of his spine. A groan vibrates his throat when his brain refuses to settle for simpler stimulus. Minutes of uninspiring strokes and he abandons the attempt at kindness. However, when he reopens to fantasy it isn’t Stiles that sneaks in an appearance. Instead, it’s the memory of a rough frown underscoring a body thick with muscle. Picturing “Cousin Miguel” shocks pulses of desire around Danny’s limbs and into his gut. 

More than climb that body Danny wants to knock it down. 

Make the man hit his knees so Danny can get that glare under his thumbs, outline it with his cock, and shove between pressed thin lips. 

Force him open until his expression goes soft and pliable, distracted by thrusts and lust. 

Get the man on his stomach; legs splayed wide, face buried in a pillow, Danny’s dick buried in his ass. 

Push hairy thighs apart to the point that grunts turn into whimpers, moans into keens with each too-dry slide. 

Both their backs bowing with tension as Danny all but tries to crawl inside behind the lead of his cock. Air tainted with the taste of sweat, tears, and lube. 

Cursing, Danny shudders as come spills in a burst of heat over his fist. 

He spends the time it takes for his breathing to even out contemplating the lingering urge to rip into Stiles. It sits uneasy but he absorbs it, works it into his area of accepted desires as his come cools.


End file.
